


Wishbone

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Not Beta Read, Present Tense, Protective Greg, Support, They are so in love, cause really isn't everything, idk what this is I'm sorry, inspired by siken, it's more angsty and serious than my other mystrade fics, mystrade, sherlock has overdosed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 08:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11181300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Mycroft stands close to Greg, close enough that their arms brush against each other. At times like this, it is important for Mycroft to register Gregory’s warmth.They clink glasses, a toast to what?To life.





	Wishbone

**Author's Note:**

> I've been following @sikenpoems on twitter, and got inspired by an extract of Wishbone, which you can read [here.](http://www.colorado.edu/journals/standards/V7N1/MMM/siken.html)

 

> _Please, for just one night, will you lay down next to me, we can leave our clothes on, we can stay all buttoned up?_
> 
> -Richard Siken, 'Wishbone'.

 

The waiting room is cold and silent. It smells like bleach. The bleach covers up the smell of sickness, the unmistakable scent of death.  
Mycroft has been staring out the barred window for…ages. He can’t remember when he started. It had been daytime. Now he can only see the car park, illuminated by streetlights.  He hears the waiting room door open and shut quietly, even though he has demanded that he be left alone. He is too tired to fight.

 

The footsteps are familiar, and he should feel calmer. He should feel… _something._  
“Myc,” Greg’s voice is both a blessing and a curse. “I came as soon as I could.”

The sudden warmth of Greg’s hand slipping into his own is like an electric shock and Mycroft’s immediate response is to move away, to let go. 

Greg knows better than to close the space between them and just watches Mycroft, trying to gauge how bad it is. He stays silent.  
“He went into cardiac arrest.” Mycroft’s voice was hoarse from lack of use, his throat dry. “They couldn’t get him back.” Mycroft continued to stare out the window, he wanted to see Greg’s face, he wanted to feel the safety it brought. 

“But they did.” Greg’s voice is quiet, and Mycroft can hear the emotion in it and it tugs at his chest. 

Greg moves closer to him, but does not touch him. “He’s going to be alright.” 

It is only now that Mycroft turns his head and refocuses his eyes on a very exhausted looking Greg, there was a reassuring smile on his face and Mycroft can feel a hint of warmth amongst the ice in his chest. 

 

Greg takes Mycroft’s expression into account, he could touch the other man right now. He had been told Mycroft has been in the same spot for hours. It has never been this bad in the time Greg has known him. Greg slowly and gently brushes his hand against Mycroft’s and when the younger man does not move, he takes it as a sign and takes Mycroft’s cold hand into his. 

“Come home with me.”

An odd look comes across Mycroft’s face, and he stares at Greg, uneasy. 

Greg wants to take the younger man into his arms and hold him close, but this will have to do for now. “Not like that.” Greg speaks slowly, willing Mycroft to look back into his eyes. “Nothing like that. Just…come home with me.” 

Mycroft hesitates, as though he is about to speak, he bites his lip before making eye contact, “Can we just _be_? Please?” 

A tired smile crosses Greg’s face and he wants to pull Mycroft into an embrace, to kiss him softly and slowly and convince him that things will turn out okay. But he just nods and squeezes Mycroft’s hand before letting go and he goes to pick up Mycroft’s coat for him and waits by the door. 

 

Greg drives them home, they live not too far away from the hospital. The radio hums quietly in the background, on only loud enough to prevent the silence from becoming overwhelming. Greg knows not to speak, Mycroft will only talk when he needs to. 

Greg opens their front door and Mycroft follows him in. They shed their coats and Greg tries to gauge how Mycroft is doing. Mycroft is watching him closely, his face tired. 

“Would you like something to eat?” Greg reaches out his arm and brushes his hand against Mycroft’s forearm. Mycroft shakes his head in the negative, his eyes wide and focussed on Greg. 

Greg feels a certain warmth run through him, but this is not the right time. 

He still wishes he could envelop Mycroft in a warm hug. 

“Come to bed with me?” Mycroft’s voice sounds loud in their hallway, and Greg merely nods. 

_Of course._ He wants to say, _Anything you’d like. Anything for you._

 

Mycroft stares emptily at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sometimes he can see the features he shares with Sherlock. Now he can’t, and he wishes he could get the image of Sherlock barely alive from the forefront of his mind. He can’t though. Technically his brother had been dead, temporarily, but still, Mycroft could do nothing.

Mycroft splashes cold water across his face, attempting to wake himself up from this nightmare. 

The only thing that helps is that he can hear Gregory, _his_ Gregory walking up the stairs. He would have two glasses of scotch. They would drink and they would lie beside each other. Sherlock’s close calls were Mycroft’s nightmare, but Greg was always the only stable presence in his life. 

 

Mycroft walks back into their bedroom and Greg is standing at the foot of their bed, holding two glasses. A small, but glorious smile crosses his face as he holds out one for Mycroft. Mycroft stands close to Greg, close enough that their arms brush against each other. At times like this, it is important for Mycroft to register Gregory’s warmth. 

They clink glasses, a toast to what? 

To life. 

 

The scotch burns Mycroft’s throat, it grounds him. He is here with Gregory, and he wants to be held by him, but he can’t quite deal with touch right now. 

Greg knows this, he knows how to read him and there’s something about that fact that makes tears come to Mycroft’s eyes. 

Is this what is to love someone?

Greg takes Mycroft’s glass and puts both glasses on the dresser, closing their bedroom door. He begins to shrug out of his jacket, it falls to the floor. He toes off his shoes and he glances across at Mycroft, _is this enough?_ his eyes seem to ask and Mycroft nods. 

Greg goes to sit on his side of their bed and Mycroft discards his jacket, tie, and shoes. He opens the first few buttons of his shirt and he doesn’t feel like he’s choking anymore. 

 

Greg watches Mycroft, how he leaves his clothes on the floor, an unusual occurrence. Then Mycroft walks towards their bed and he manages a smile, although exhausted. 

Greg wants to help get rid of the sadness in Mycroft’s eyes, he wants to hold on to the other man and never let him go, to protect him. 

Mycroft lies down, and watches Greg attentively as he lies down beside him. They are silent. 

Their arms touch, but Greg is cautious. 

 

Greg brushes his finger across the back of Mycroft’s hand and Mycroft doesn’t respond. They both close their eyes, sleep will not come easily to either of them.

They lie there for some time, then Greg feels Mycroft’s fingers -still cold- wrap around his hand. Greg takes the sign and begins to stroke Mycroft’s hand, trying to transfer even the slightest bit of his warmth to Mycroft. He is slow and gentle, he does not attempt any other contact. He opens an eye and glances at Mycroft. The younger man’s eyes remain closed, he is biting his lip. 

 

Greg is patient. Mycroft feels this, feels his love’s warmth. It does not feel uncomfortable now, he is getting used to the sensation of touch again. He does not feel that he is going to break anymore. 

Mycroft carefully moves to rest his head on Greg’s shoulder and he can hear the other man inhale deeply. Greg stays still and Mycroft finds it hard to believe that he has found someone who understands. He often does. 

 

Greg makes no attempt to move, only when Mycroft presses against his side it is a silent sign. 

It is safe to touch, to hold. 

Greg places a gentle kiss on the top of Mycroft’s head and he manoeuvres his arm so that he can run his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. He slows his movements when he hears Mycroft’s breath quicken. He does not want to overwhelm the younger man. 

Sometimes touch is difficult to discern, at times like this Mycroft is oversensitive to any direct contact, and the last thing either of them want is for either to become uncomfortable or uneasy. 

 

Mycroft feels his heartbeat quicken at the feel of Greg’s fingers softly massage his scalp. He wants to yield to the touch, and he does after a minute. His breathing evens out and he lets go of Greg’s hand and moves his hand across the material of Greg’s shirt, across his stomach, feeling the warmth emanate from Greg’s body. He curls his arm around Greg’s waist. Mycroft is more yielding to Greg’s touch now, and he feels safe here in the other man’s arms. Mycroft turns to lie on his side, his head fitting perfectly in the crook of Greg’s neck. 

He inhales the familiar, comforting smell of Greg’s aftershave and feels Greg press another kiss on the top of his head. 

 

Mycroft closes his eyes, he can feel the ice in his bones begin to melt. He breathes to the rhythm of Gregory’s breath and how he can feel his chest rise and fall beneath his head. He focuses on Greg, only Greg in his mind’s eye. This slowly overtakes the images of Sherlock from that morning, from where Mycroft was helpless. 

 

It is here and now, he and Gregory are in their bed. Mycroft is safe, he feels secure in Greg’s arms, they are alive and warm. Mycroft can feel exhaustion overtake him and he begins to fall asleep. 

 

Greg is silent beside him, he continues to hold him as he hears Mycroft’s breathing even out. They are safe here, Mycroft will always be safe within Greg’s arms. The unspoken lies between them, the words are on Greg’s lips but he does not want to wake Mycroft. He presses another delicate kiss on the top of Mycroft’s head. He holds Mycroft close to him and closes his own eyes. They would talk tomorrow, things would slowly go back to normal. 

 

But tonight, tonight they are silent. 

Tonight they are there to hold each other. 

Tonight they don’t need to vocalise their love, they are certain of it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you need to find me, my tumblr is [here](http://lostallsenseofcontrol.tumblr.com/).
> 
> There is more (happier/lighter) Mystrade coming soon, I have at least 3 in progress. Life is just strange at the moment.


End file.
